Friday 10 April 2020

Why the United Kingdom does not have a cadastre – and does it matter? (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Nerve presets next to my 
accomplished alarm locking 
day and night out now livid 
in cellulose its orbital home 
moving stupid liquid forever
in the curing of sleep, 
you cannot decline that 
fillings excite big zeros 
as crown pain camps in
a baked sky diagnoses the fracas 
as illustrated trauma made the bloodline 
moot the vein in circulation as our 
ears are now in excellent condition 
as the sound is almost always awful 
clocking the hum scathes about the 
streets with the throat struck in blood 
burst padlocks, that is proof enough it 
never counts feral under the baton rounded 
to cost pride into a large bolus its texture 
marbled the larynx taking the charge of 
lifetime disposals what is won chokes 
the sky and crosses it through we have the 
cadaster now singing out clear the keys 
uptake the floating scale matured chime 
kick the lock free the voice sealed 
in the ring outcry no one wants to see
the ballistic gelatine record since it 
has decreed the air already, 
mixed with bone dominium  
where no job marches run amok
over the proud varicose fat on 
sun-loungers, watch the juvenile 
lash out now watch the choppy sink 
in badlands the saturnalia,
so eat the chicken wings 
gilded in a better hour